Every sensation, every breath. To lose everything their child might hold special, every memory. With a trauma that one does not wish to imagine for one’s worst enemies. Each instant, a fist rising from nowhere and bloodying their face, with numbness and humiliation, with a laceration so deep only a Jesus or Buddha could heal. Even today, when Modi attempts to reverse those decades of betrayal, I do not see a sense of victory or euphoria in them. Who will recover them their home? Their childhood? Their trust in their people?
